by Jenn Cooksey
So, with my belief being completely reaffirmed, my head nod went to a shake when I said, “Whoa, back it up…you didn’t catch him doin’ shit, Melissa. He just wasn’t where you thought he was supposed to be.”
“Well, yeah, but that’s my point, Tristan. He said he was at rehearsal and he wasn’t! So why’d he lie to me? Besides, he never told any of the girls who fawned all over him to stop, I mean it always looked like he was encouraging them and all that would go on right under my nose, and he practically never introduced me as his girlfriend, like he didn’t want anyone to know he had one or something, and he started to ignore my texts! I mean the night of Camie’s party, I sent him like four or five texts asking where he was and when he was gonna get there and he didn’t respond to a single one! He gave me some story about practice running late and not being able to reply because of that and when I didn’t buy it, he tried to laugh it off, and the clincher was that he didn’t deny it when I finally called him out, so really, what am I supposed to think?!”
“Honestly, I think you’re way off base with the cheating, I really do…I don’t know about the rest of it, but I’ll bet you anything if you’d ever asked him where he was specifically that time, he would’ve told you and it wouldn’t have had a single thing to do with him fucking around on you. Seriously, Melissa, you should talk to him…”
“Well, I’m not gonna. If what you’re saying is true, he should be the one to say something about it to me. I mean, he broke up with me, not the other way around, so even if he wasn’t cheating on me, he obviously didn’t wanna be with me anymore anyway. So, whatever, it’s over…I’m moving on,” she said and what had started with her sounding hopeful about what I know to be the truth, ended with her simple resignation at the same time her eyes caught sight of Keith behind me.
I looked over my shoulder and saw him come out of the locker room, but I stifled my wholly exasperated eye-roll and moderately disgusted sigh. “Speaking of that, Melissa, from one friend to another, don’t do it. Call Brandon or don’t, it’s up to you, but…don’t get back together with him,” I said and with my head, I subtly indicated Keith who was leaning against the locker room wall, waiting for her, “It won’t be like it was before…he, ah…doesn’t have the same respect for you as he once did, if you get my meaning.”
“How do you know?” She asked me a little too defiantly, making me want to shake my head in disappointment.
“Because I know. Camie and I haven’t been the only subject of locker room talk lately…”
“What does that mean?”
I sighed. “He ditched his date for the dance, did you know that?”
“Yeah, so what? He’s going stag, big deal. He didn’t do it for me, I’m still going with Pete.”
Yeah, he’s showing up without a date because he plans on hi-jacking Pete’s during or after the dance. Not that Pete will care very much. He’s not into Melissa and he’s really not into the dance this year for some reason either, but here’s my dilemma; how do I politely tell Melissa that Keith’s made it no secret that he’s really only in it because he thinks he’s finally gonna get to fuck her? I mean, I don’t doubt that he has some feelings left for her or anything, but, that’s not what he’s being vocal about, which probably means he doesn’t have a drop of respect for her anymore, and I really don’t wanna see Melissa get taken advantage of which is exactly what’ll happen if she isn’t careful.
“Just…shit. Just trust me on this one, please? You broke up with him for a reason, Melissa, and just because one or two things have changed, nothing else has. So just watch yourself at the dance, okay?”
My advice didn’t go over the way I’d hoped because she glared at me and then bitterly snapped, “You’re one to talk about the dance, Tristan.”
“Don’t. Don’t bring that spineless snake into this…I’ve been goin’ round and round with her about him and I swear to God, Melissa, I wanna slit my wrists every time I think about her with anyone else, but her and Scott whatever his fuckin’ name is…no, I can’t take that…”
“Bose.”
“What?”
“Bose. It’s his last name.”
“Fuck, I don’t give a shit what his last name is, Melissa! I die inside every time I think about her with him!”
“Well, whatever. You could’ve prevented that whole thing, but, you didn’t so have fun living with that knowledge,” she said, her voice dripping in honeyed sarcasm, like I had Kate’s bush-baby hair and she was laughing at me by saying, “Oh, I just love your new hairstyle!”
“You incredible bitch,” I breathed as she started to move away, essentially being flabbergasted at her flippancy.
Melissa stopped, looked at me, and then on a gasp, she hugged me when she realized what she’d said. “Oh my God, Tristan, I’m so sorry…I really didn’t mean that. It just came out…I’m just…I don’t know, there’s really no excuse for what I said so I’ll give you your due respect and just agree with you, okay? That was an inexcusably bitchy thing to say to someone I consider to be one of the best people I know, and, someone I’m heartbroken for…please forgive me for that,” she said in sincere apology and glanced behind me. I looked over my shoulder again and saw Keith crook his finger, like he was saying, “Come here,” and when she replied by holding up her index finger, asking him to give her a second, I knew anything else I would tell her on that front would go in one ear and out the other so I kept my mouth shut as she continued. “And look, I know your thoughts and I appreciate your concern, but, honestly, I don’t see what difference it makes anymore, you know? Those one or two things that have changed kind of do change everything else…”
I was watching Melissa walk away with Keith, who looked back at me and quickly raised his eyebrows like he was either looking for congratulations or encouragement, neither of which was he gonna receive from me, when Jeff made himself and Pete known.
“Let it go, Trist, Pete and I will watch her back at the dance…”
“It won’t do any good… Wait. Watch whose back?”
“Both of ‘em, okay? C’mon, go get changed so we can blow this popsicle stand…Katy’s gonna go pick up her dress and get her nails done and since we don’t have school tomorrow, I’m thinking the three of us can grab Conner and some of the other guys and play a little ball…or, maybe a lot of ball,” Jeff said and looking at Pete, he started to laugh, “If I have to spend tomorrow night all sparkly like a fuckin’ vampire, I wanna work up a nice tangy sweat, or, you know, a really nasty body odor and come home dirtier than shit tonight.”
He got a chuckle out of me for that one… “Yeah, it’s good to have goals...alright, make it a lot of ball and you can count me in, but, give me an hour or so though…I wanna go home and work out first. Oh and let’s get something clear here, real vampires don’t sparkle. They brood and they’re goddamned good at it, but they don’t fucking sparkle.”
“Not according to what we’ve been reading in Henderson’s, but I’m not gonna argue with you about variants in blood-sucker canon.”
“You gonna swim after we play too?” Pete asked, knowing exactly what I was up to.
“Yep.”
“Has that worked?”
“Nope, not yet, but I figure I might as well keep trying. Besides, exhausting myself with physical activity is better than trying to get some sleep using Nyquil infused turkey.”
“Ew…do I wanna know?” Jeff asked, looking at me and then Pete who was shaking his head in a definite “No, you really don’t,” kind of way.
Echoing Pete’s head shaking I answered, “Hell, I don’t even wanna know, man…let’s just say desperate times call for desperate measures…”
As I would discover later to be very true indeed.
Twenty.
Friday (Just Barely), Week Four
Something is wrong ~ Brandon
I’m telling you, listen to me…something’s wrong.
That’s what my gut has been telling me for the last few days now. The thing is, I
don’t know what’s wrong. And because of that, I’ve been tuning it out. But, tonight, it’s not letting me.
I rolled over in my bed and looked at the clock. 12:26. AM.
Shit.
All I wanna do is get a little decent sleep, is that so much to ask? Because it honestly shouldn’t be this hard and I really need it. It’s been such a long fucking week, I haven’t been sleeping all that well, and today’s rehearsal blew chunks because this gut feeling of mine has put me in such a bad fucking mood…I mean I never snap at the guys like I was doing today. Plus, I have to get up in six hours to take a fucking economics test…
I blew out another breath and sat up, thinking about maybe playing a video game or something until I just pass out from sheer exhaustion. I wish I could describe what this feels like, but it’s not so much physical as it is physiological. I mean it originates in my stomach and I do feel it physically, which is why I say it comes from my gut, but it’s more or less translated by my whole body and then given to my brain to interpret, if you follow me at all. Shit, I don’t know what to call it or how else to describe it…well, that is unless you wanna get cliché and call it intuition or a sixth sense. Whatever the case, it’s almost always right, which means something is definitely wrong.
12:28…
And you know, it’s been a really long time since I’ve had this particular kind of feeling…this, I dunno, sense of unease maybe? Or…fuck…how can I put it? I guess it’s like when you’re about to do something and that little voice inside your head (or gut) says, “Uh-uh-uh…you’re headin’ for a world of hurt if you do that, dumbass,” and you don’t listen to it, you just do whatever it was that you were gonna do and then you inevitably end up dealing with the fallout of what you probably shouldn’t have done in the first place.
Yeah, that’s all I got, sorry.
Anyway, it has to have been at least three months since I’ve felt like this. Or more. Or maybe it’s less…goddamnit. Okay, let’s see…if I had to make a guess, I’d say the last real time was probably in regard to Melissa. Right about when we slept together for the first time, again, against my better judgment, and then it just got progressively worse until Sunday when I was goin’ nuts obsessing about her runnin’ off and nailing her joystick boyfri—
!
Oh no she fucking ISN’T!
The mental assassin ~ Tristan
12:33. In the goddamned morning no less.
I punched my sleeping pillow—not my cuddle pillow—to plump it up again and then I flopped back down on it face first, whining.
I want my baby. My chest hurts, I can’t sleep, and I want my baby. My pillow and sheets and pretty much everything else in my room that I could safely douse with that concoction of essential oils that she wears smells like her, but, I still can’t sleep. And it’s all because of that fucking dance tomorrow night. Or tonight. Whatever. She’s goin’ to the dance with that guy. What’s his name. Scott. Scott Bose.
It’s making me crazy. I don’t want her goin’ with anyone; I mean I’m sure I’d even have an issue if she were going with Jeff for Christ’s sake, but that guy? Fuck, he just gives me bad vibes. And I don’t know why that is exactly, but deep down, I just really think he’s a snake. I mean the lowest of the low species of snake. Like Satan. Not Satan as in the way Jeff likes to joke about Jillian by calling her every name for the devil he can think of, but the Lucifer. The snake who gave Eve the fucking apple in the first place and brought evil into the gard—Oh my fucking God. No. No, that’s not…oh fuck.
My reason for having those bad vibes had been there all along but it was like a sniper lying in wait. A mental assassin. You know, when you know you know something but it just hasn’t hit you yet?
When it clicked I flew out of bed. In constant forward motion, I threw on the first shirt and pair of pants my hands found, but I didn’t even stop to put shoes on. Hopping into my jeans and almost falling on my face as I did, I just grabbed my keys, and out of habit, I gave a nod to the troll for leaving them on the hook as I took off. If I’m not mistaken, I passed my mom in the hallway as I was leaving, but I honestly wasn’t paying attention. I was on a mission. Desperate to get to Camie and tell her something she’d asked me about the day we first signed our contract. Something I never got around to telling her and something I’m praying that telling her about now will convince her to not go to the dance with Evil Scott.
This time I did break the speed limit and when I went to take the steps of the porch in one stretch, I realized my shortsightedness in not wearing shoes was probably a good thing. My frenzy slowed but only because I recognized the need for stealth. Essentially I’m breaking and entering…just without the breaking. I didn’t hesitate in using my key and I must’ve had that in mind from jump because it was already singled out in my hand, ready. So, making like Jillian, I slipped into the Ramsey’s house like a wraith.
It was weird. The house was so quiet. Like eerily quiet and all of a sudden, my hearing was hypersensitive. I’m guessing that’s because I was completely and totally paranoid about getting caught sneaking into a man’s house, or more specifically, his teenage daughter’s bedroom. Mind you, a man who keeps a loaded gun in a nifty little nightstand safe next to his bed. With that in mind, I tiptoed through the house and up the stairs. I think. I mean I’m like almost six-foot five and weigh somewhere in the realm of two hundred thirty-ish pounds now so I don’t know how effectively someone my size can tiptoe, but whatever…the point is, I was trying to be as quiet as inhumanly possible. But I was also trying to figure out what I was gonna do once I gained entrance to Camie’s bedroom.
Seriously, she could totally freak and then I’m fucked well and good, so how do I approach this? Do I cover her mouth so she can’t scream? They do it in the movies all the time, but, I dunno, that almost always scares the shit out of people and my intent is the exact opposite of frightening Camie. OH! I know what I can do…I’ll send her a text telling her I’m in her room and to not freak out! She won’t scream at a text…grumble at being woken up, probably, but she won’t have a heart attack and besides, if anyone happens to hear her phone go off in middle of the night, who cares, right?
Man, I love technology sometimes!
Camie’s parents’ bedroom was added on to the house by the previous owners who included a separate sitting room in their modification so you have to pass through that before you ever reach the bedroom proper, and even though her parents’ room is way at the other end of the hall with not one but two doors providing a sound barrier between them and the rest of the house, I still couldn’t keep myself from continually looking over my shoulder and wincing with each beat of my heart in fear that they could hear it as I approached Camie’s door and went to open it. I put my hand on the knob and covered that hand to muffle any sound, and then I turned it ever so slowly. I swear it took me over thirty seconds to feel the rotation of the handle stop. I crept into my baby’s room, closed the door again, going through the same painstakingly slow process, but adding a few seconds by taking the precaution of locking it, and then I reached into my pocket for my phone and—Fuck!
I’d love technology even more if I wouldn’t have left my goddamned phone at home!
I wanted to hit my head on the door. Repeatedly. And as I was just beginning to mime that self-flagellating action, I caught a glimpse of gold out of the corner of my eye. I turned my head and was just bending over to get a better look in the waste basket, when, with my heart already in my throat, I felt it stop beating entirely.
“What are you doing here?” She asked in a lifeless whisper, barely loud enough for me to hear but loud enough to give me a heart attack just the same. Honestly, I was so surprised I couldn’t have screamed even if I’d wanted to. I did straighten and spin around though, hitting my head on the corner of that shelf on the wall by her door; the shelf that her unopened birthday present used to sit on but no longer does.
“Ow! Fuck!” I whispered back, my hand immediately going to my head, “You s
cared the shit outta me!”
“Um. It’s my room, Tristan…and it’s the uh, middle of the night, sooo shouldn’t I be the one who’s freaked out?”
“Yeah, okay, good point…” I answered, still rubbing my head.
“You didn’t answer me…what are you doing here? Or, is that something else you’re gonna keep from me for my own good?”
Aw shit. This is not how I was hoping to start.
Hmm. On the other hand, it’s a good jumping off point… “No, I’m here because I wanna tell you something for your own good instead.”
In the light coming in through her window I saw her eyes melt, not with tears but with gratitude and relief. I wanted to prep her for the letdown but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. We’d only wind up reenacting what we’ve rehearsed more than enough today, or, yesterday…whatever. I need her to listen to me and hear this so I climbed onto the foot of her bed, facing her, and wrapping my arms around my legs, I just started.
“I’m gonna tell you a story, Camie, a true one, and I don’t think you’re gonna like hearing it, but you need to, so please, just try to listen without freaking out on me until I’m done, okay?”
She searched my face for a second and although I saw her shift in her bed, like she was contemplating moving closer to me, she stayed put and just nodded.
“Back in late August a few weeks or so after I’d seen you for the last time at the beach and was already head over heels without knowing shit about you, after a pre-season scrimmage game against Valhalla and against my will, I was dragged to a party by Jeff and some of the guys…in my own goddamned bus…Pete stole my keys at the game, gave ‘em to Conner and then the rest of ‘em ganged up on me in the parking lot and threw me in…the fuckers. It was a huge party and a bunch of people from Valhalla showed up too, but I didn’t wanna be there. Jeff had been riding my ass hard about my sudden disinterest in partying, or more specifically, girls. He’d been making comments, teasing me, harassing me, all kinds of shit daily since the first time I saw you and I was honestly starting to agree with him, but as you know, I still couldn’t get you out of my head.